


FIC AMNESTY: Can We Stop This For A Minute

by nylandeer



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fic amnesty, London Fashion Week, M/M, unfinished fic, week long date part 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 08:15:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2614745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nylandeer/pseuds/nylandeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It’s only a month, popstar. That’s practically nothing.</i>
</p><p>Harry pulls up the calendar in his phone to check the dates- is it really that short?<br/> <br/><i>It’s a month and a half Grimmy! That’s so terribly long. Don’t replace me with that body pillow of yours in the meantime.</i></p><p>His phone buzzes with a response before he even has time to shut off the screen.</p><p>  <i>I’m rounding down. Makes it easier on me. And hey, don’t be nasty about Downy Styles. He may not have your rugged physique, but I’ve put a flannel on him and doodled some random tattoos in sharpie. Almost better than the real thing.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	FIC AMNESTY: Can We Stop This For A Minute

**Author's Note:**

> Fic amnesty for a fic I will never finish, detailing the canon timeline during September 2013-November 2013.  
> I hope to goodness that someone writes this one day, but I've tried so many times and I just can't manage it. I'm so sorry.  
> No editing, all mistakes are my own fault.

September 20th, 2013

 

Harry presses his head against the window of the plane as the winking lights of London slowly disappear from view. He lets his eyes slide closed, and though he never sleeps well on planes, maybe -maybe this one time- he can catch some shut eye. It would be better than the alternatives, which include Harry re-reading texts from him one million times, or getting strong armed into watching some terrible action movie with Niall.

His phone buzzes in his hand, reminding him that there’s a text he hasn’t checked yet. He slides over a picture of the two of them, laying on the grass at that park they went to, hair splayed out around their faces, grass poking up between the locks, and easy smiles for both of them.

The text is from Nick, received right as the plane took off, but Harry was too busy silently waving goodbye to London to check it just then.

_It’s only a month, popstar. That’s practically nothing._

Harry pulls up the calendar in his phone to check the dates- is it really that short?

_It’s a month and a half Grimmy! That’s so terribly long. Don’t replace me with that body pillow of yours in the meantime._

His phone buzzes with a response before he even has time to shut off the screen.

_I’m rounding down. Makes it easier on me. And hey, don’t be nasty about Downy Styles. He may not have your rugged physique, but I’ve put a flannel on him and doodled some random tattoos in sharpie. Almost better than the real thing._

Harry laughed to himself, thinking about Nick going through his closet, trying to decide on the perfect flannel for “Downy Styles”.

_Is it weird that I’m a little jealous of a pillow?_

_Don’t be. You’re much prettier. Now shut off your phone before you crash the plane! I’d like you back in one piece please._

_Fineeee. Love you Grim._

_Love you Harry Styles._

Harry turns his phone on to airplane mode, and leaned his head back up against the window. He screws his eyes up tight and repeats under his breath, “It’s gonna be fine, it’s gonna be fine” and tries not to think about anything, especially gangly radio DJs with too-big hands. He slowly drifts off as his mind betrays him, swimming in memories of Nick, Nick, Nick.

 

***

September 13th, 2013

“Ya know, Friday the 13th is supposed to be an unlucky day,” drawls Gemma, lying stomach down on the bed with her head propped up in her palms and her feet kicking in the air.

“Thank you Gem, for -as always- instilling a sense of calm during my most stressful moments,” Harry growls, sarcasm woven into every syllable. He’s thumbing through his closet, exasperated that he only owns 3 pairs of trousers. “How am I apparently an adult?” he groans. “What kind of adult doesn’t own a decent pair of trousers?”

“A very successful adult,” quips Gemma, snapping her gum. “An adult who has made millions of dollars and could charm the most cold hearted individuals. And all while wearing those ridiculous excuse for jeans. What are you so worried about, baby brother of mine?”

Harry, in nothing but pants and a white tee and all but given up on getting dressed, flops down on the bed beside Gemma, bouncing her the smallest bit off the mattress.

“I just… ya know… I wanna make a good impression on Nick’s parents. This is important.” He raised a hand to his face and ran his fingers over his closed eyes. Gemma looked over and saw her younger brother’s face, cloaked with exhaustion and worry. She laid her hand out on his stomach and rubbed small circles, something she used to do when he was younger and feeling poorly.

“Harry,” her words no longer tinged with good-natured humor, but serious and full of concern. “Nick’s mum already adores you after that pre-Brits dinner party you and Nick threw. And Nick’s dad is going to love you, just like everyone else who’s ever met you. I mean, he is a old man afterall. Didn’t you once tell me that your biggest fans were teenage girls and old men?” Harry laughs, short and clipped, but deep, making Gemma’s hand vibrate over his stomach ever so slightly. “Before the night is over, he’s gonna want to adopt you. Probably like you more than Grimmy in the endup.” Harry rolls onto his side as a smile creeps across his face. He throws his arms around Gemma, bringing her into a tight hug.

After a minute, they both ease off the bed and cobble together an outfit for Harry. Gemma sends him out the door with a quick quip about him taking longer to get ready than any teenage girl she’s known and another quick hug.

He decides to take the tube, and miraculously, he’s able to make his trip relatively unseen, pressed against the back doors, eyes always on his phone. He taps out a quick text to Nick:

_On the tube, be there soon._

He gets a response almost immediately.

_Does all that hair get in the way of proper brain function? Because you going on the tube? That is utter insanity._

Harry smiles the broad, face-numbing smile he only gets from talking to Nick. From being with Nick. From thinking about Nick.

He’s at the stop before he knows it, and he sneaks off the train, keeping his head down. The restaurant is a block away, and he makes it there without incident as well. Unlucky day? Doesn’t seem like it so far. Harry flashes a quick smile at the hostess, inadvertently knocking the wind from her lungs, as he is wont to do. He can barely be bothered to give her a second glance as he snakes his way through tables towards the back of the restaurant.

And there, in a booth against the back wall, face eerily lit by the low sconces, hands throwing shadows across the table from his wild gesticulations, is Nick. He looks up from his conversation briefly, feeling the new presence near the table, and his gaze stops on Harry, emerging from the darkness of the restaurant. His smile blooms, reaching his eyes and crinking at his temples.

He unfolds himself from the booth and takes one, two, long strides before the two lanky men are folding themselves around each other.

“Good to see you, popstar” whispers Nick, lips brushing over Harry’s ear, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. The contact is minimal, but it warms Harry’s entire body immediately, and he fights the urge to let his knees give out and collapse into Nick’s arms. “Glad to see those teenage girls didn’t tear you apart while you were on tour.”

Nick’s parents pry themselves out of the booth and Nick makes introductions all round. Gemma was right, there’s nothing to be worried about. They’re going to love me.

Dinner races by, full of good food, hearty laughs all around, and hands clasped tight under the table. After, they go to a benefit featuring Elton John where he proclaims “I love Harry, I love One Direction, fuck off, alright?” to a packed audience. Nick’s dad claps Harry on the back with a deep laugh, and Harry feels as if his head might explode from all the excitement.

After the show, there’s a few minutes of quick pictures and hurried chats before Harry, Nick, and Nick’s parents pile into a cab back to Nick’s flat. Once there, Pete and Elaine quickly excuse themselves, making a big show out of yawning and saying they have an early train to catch in the morning. And suddenly, for the first time in six months -six achingly long months-, Harry and Nick are alone together.

“Hi Nick Grimshaw,” Harry calls across the room, his voice hushed and husky.

They stand across the room from each other for a minute, looking at each other with fond familiarity, but making no move but to wring hands or pick lint off their pants. The silence is strange, but not uncomfortable. Nick thinks that he could stand here all night, ten feet from Harry, not doing anything, and he would be more than okay. But that’s not what he wants to do. Harry runs a hand through his hair and licks his lips, and it takes all of Nicks self control not to bend Harry over the arm of the couch.

“How ‘bout a brew?” asks Nick hurriedly, already moving towards the kitchen. “I even got Jaffa cakes.”

“Grimmy you hate Jaffa Cakes,” Harry quips, a smile spreading across his face as he follows Nick into the kitchen and settles onto a stool at the island. “You once called them ‘the scourge of our nation’ in the biscuit aisle at Tesco. Although, I did once hear you call Matt Fincham the same thing on the radio.”

Nick laughs, pulls mugs, tea, sugar and milk out of their various locations in the kitchen. He flicks the electric kettle on, its blue light illuminating the dimly lit kitchen.

“I stand by both of those statements,” he insists, his voice clipped and nasal. “Finchy was being a particular twat that day, and even bloody digestives are better than Jaffa Cakes.” He reaches into the cupboard and pulls out the blue and orange roll of biscuits and turns back to Harry. His voice is much softer and affectionate when he admits “I know they’re your favourite tho’, so I picked some up while I was at Tesco the otha’ day. S’not a big deal really.” He holds the packet out to Harry, who takes it, still beaming,

Harry tears into the foil at one end, accidentally splitting it all the way down the side. The biscuits spill from the package, rolling in every direction across the counter in wobbly spirals. Harry picks up one that’s come to a stop and puts the whole thing in his mouth, smiling an eyes-closed, over-exaggerated smile around the biscuit jammed in his mouth.

“Fank ew Grimmeh,” he says, spitting crumbs a little as he speaks. Nick scoffs and rolls his eyes at Harry.

Nick brews the tea -one sugar no cream for himself, three sugars and cream for Harry- while they catch up. It’s been almost six months since they’ve properly seen each other. Harry jetted off to start the tour right after their disastrous attempt at a post-Brits radio show. Fincham still looks as if he’s about to have a coronary anytime someone brings it up. The boys were supposed to have a break in August between the North American and Australian legs of the tour, but Harry had spent half the time hanging out in LA, and the other half doing promotion for their movie.

They’d seen each other briefly one day in late August; Nick had interviewed Harry, Liam and Zayn for The Breakfast Show. That interview was later deemed “completely and utterly useless” by the boys’ PR team, but they’d all gotten a good laugh out of it. Throughout the interview, Harry sat across the table smiling, acting as if he wasn’t aware of the affect his very presence had on Nick. Afterward, Zayn and Liam had distracted their minders with some faux diva meltdown, giving Harry and Nick just enough time to suck each other off in the studio toilet. Nick had found rainbow cake crumbs in unspeakable places that night, and Harry had texted him from their next interview, wondering if Greg James could smell Nick’s come on his breath.

And now, after six months of long distance phone calls and texts that had racked up Nick’s phone bill, Harry was sitting on a barstool across the island with his hands wrapped around a mug with a picture of a cat in glasses -a gift from one of Nick’s many godchildren. Harry is telling some story from tour in his low drawl that Nick is barely listening to, because all he can focus on is Harry’s mouth. It’s obscene; pink and plush and inviting, and Nick has to force himself to pay attention to what Harry is saying.

“So we’re in Vegas, and Louis decides he’s going to pull a full ‘Hangover’. After the first show, we all go to eat, and Louis says he’s going to the casino for a bit, and he’ll see us all later. Later that night, no one’s seen him, but we figure he just got caught up at a slot machine or summat. But when he’s not turned up by the next mornin’ and he’s not answerin’ his phone, we all get a little worried, yeah? Everyone’s runnin’ around yellin’ ‘Where’s Louis? Have you seen Lou?’ and tryin’ to keep the press or the fans from findin’ out.”

Harry pauses and takes a sip of his tea, never taking his eyes off Nick, his warm smile never faltering.

“Harold, if you don’t stop smiling, your face is gonna get stuck like that,” Nick mock reprimands, his own smile rivaling the one plastered across Harry’s face.

“Nah,” Harry reassures him, “I’m still young, my muscles haven’t been all worn down yet. You on the other hand, should be careful.”

Nick scoffs, pouts, and reaches across the table to punch Harry in the arm.

“No punchies!” squeals Harry, bringing the smile immediately back to Nick’s face.

Before he knows it, Nick has clamored across the island -where he squashed a Jaffa cake with his knee- to alternate between punching and aggressively tickling Harry. Harry is squealing like a dying pig, and Nick keeps urging him to “shut up shut up my parents are sleeping” and it all feels like they’re in secondary school sneaking around in Nick’s parents’ house when they should be sleeping.

When Harry finally catches both of Nick’s hands, they’re both laughing and out of breath. Harry looks up at him, sees his smile crinkling his face in all the well worn places, his hair tousled, his eyes dark and shining. Nick always complains that he’s beginning to look old and worn down, but to Harry, he’s comforting and warm and familiar -like sinking into a well worn chair that knowingly hugs your bum, no matter how long you’ve been away.

He was once asked in an interview if he gets homesick while he’s away. He told the reporter he does, but not for the physical, tangible home. He said he misses the people. What he didn’t say, is that he misses Nick. Nick, laughing and warm and carefree and familiar, that’s home to Harry, more than any flat or house or city ever has been. Niall longs for Ireland when they’re on the road, from a place deep within him, and Harry longs that same way for Nick. Even now, with Nick inches away, he can feel it, heavy and unsettling in his stomach.

Standing in the kitchen, their breath heavy and smiles wide, Harry pulls Nick in and kisses him. The moment their lips make contact, the weight is lifted from Harry’s stomach. He frees Nick’s hands to grab either side of his face, and Nick wraps his around Harry, long fingers digging into soft hips. Their lips part and tongues mingle; Nick drags Harry’s bottom lip through his teeth, eliciting a small moan. It’s full of want -no, need- and unspoken yearning from half a year and half a world apart.

“So uh,” Harry coughs as he pulls back, “can we, uh, take this to the bedroom?”

Nick smacks himself on the forehead, cursing under his breath.

“My mum and dad are sleeping in my bedroom tonight! That was so stupid of me.”

“Don’t you, have uh…” Harry began, “oh right, you’ve got a ‘one bed-womb’ flat.”

They both cackle for a moment at the memory until Nick’s face settles into one of dismay.

“The first night I get to see you, and my mum and dad are in my bed.”

“Don’t worry Grim,” Harry cooes. “You’ve got that nice big sofa. We’ll curl up on it tonight, and we can take the bed back tomorrow once your parents have gone.”

“Okay,” Nick sighs. “But you promise to spend every other night until you leave in my bed?”

“A bit needy eh?” laughs Harry. Nick pulls a pouty face, then sticks out his tongue. “What if there were other people I wanted to see?”

“Well they can see you during the day,” whines Nick, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and bringing him in closer. “And if you sleep in anyone else’s bed, I’ll ruin them. Afterall, I am a very powerful radio host.”

Harry rolls his eyes, as if to say “sure you are, whatever you say,” but relents to Nick tugging on his arm and batting his lashes.

“Fineee. I will stay here every night until I have to leave for Australia.”

Nick claps his hands together excitedly in front of Harry’s face.

“I’m glad you agree,” Nick adds. “Otherwise I might’ve had to tie you to my bed.”

“Well what if I wanted to be tied to your bed?” Harry asks cautiously.

“I think something could be arranged,” replies Nick, with what was meant to be a sultry wink, but really looks as if he’s having a bit of a stroke.

The two men strip down to their pants and Harry crawls onto the sofa, patting the spot next to him. Nick lies down next to Harry, letting him spoon around his lanky figure. Harry plants a soft kiss on Nick’s shoulder, then presses his cheek up against it.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

“Love you too, popstar.”

 

**

September 24th, 2013

 

Harry is the first to jump off stage. He hears Louis screaming “Thank you Adelaide, and goodnight!” as he grabs a sweating bottle of water from one of the people standing in the wings. Various people are clapping him on the back, and he can hear the roar of twelve thousand girls, a deafening downpour of screams, clapping hands and stomping feet fading out behind him. He finds his way to the dressing room and digs his phone out of his bag. There’s a stream of texts, all from Nick, and each one seems drunker than the one before.

Harry scrolls over to his contacts and picks Nick’s number, hits send.

“Harold!” slurs Nick fondly. “‘Bout time you called innit?” Harry can hear voices and laughter in the background.

“I just got off stage Grim. Is it appropriate to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ or is it more of a “Happy Anniversary” situation?”

“Happy Anniversary? But Fincham and I have only been fake dating for one day. Bit soon yeah?”

“Right,” Harry laughs, “I saw something about that on Twitter yesterday. First you replace me with a body pillow, now your producer? I’ve only been gone 5 days.”

“Jealous?” Nick asks, and Harry can hear something odd in Nick’s voice. A sharp edge that makes it seem more menacing than mocking.

“In your dreams,” he replies with a chuckle, light and happy, buzzing off that post concert high. He decides to chalk up whatever he heard in Nick’s voice to too many celebratory cocktails and the ringing in his ears. “Anyways, I’m talking about the one year anniversary of you doing the Breakfast Show. A whole year, seems like less than that.”

“It would, since you’re always off on some grand new adventure to some interesting corner of the world.” This time, Harry’s sure he hears it. Nick sounds angry, grating. He rubs his temples with one hand, sighs.

“You know I’m not happy about it either Nick, but there’s no reason for you to be cross with me about it.” The noise on the other end quiets down, and he can hear Nick breathing hard into the phone.

“I know, I know,” Nick sighs after a few minutes. “A month and a half is much longer when you have to take it day by day.”

“Only a month,” Harry reprimands, and Nick lets out a quick laugh, but it catches on something. “Now, what did you all do to celebrate today? Took the piss out of Fincham every half hour? Embarrass some poor innocent listener on air? Apparently got royally pissed in the early afternoon?”

“Yeah pretty much,” Nick replies breathily, a smile tinging his voice again. “We all went to a pub straight after the show for a drink. And that drink turned into five or ten. Even Finchy is pissed right now. Quite the sight, won’t stop talking about how he got all ‘A stars’ on his A levels.” Harry hears someone call Nick’s name in the background. “Okay, I’ve got to go Harry, I’m being summoned back to the party.”

“Okay,” Harry relents. “Call me soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, love you popstar.”

“Love you too Grim.”

**

September the 14th, 2013

It’s half three in the afternoon when Harry swings by Nick’s flat to pick him up for the House of Holland show. Harry rings the doorbell three times with no response before he resorts to just intermittently kicking the door with the points of his boots. When Nick finally opens the door, he’s still in his pyjamas, quiff flat and falling over his forehead.

“I quite like your new look Grim,” Harry snorts, “I didn’t realize fringe was back in style.”

“Just because you recently hair gel could be used for something other than lubricant doesn’t mean a good fringe is suddenly taboo,” Nick says reproachfully. “Who do you think you are, Paul Mitchell?”

“I would never claim to be someone like Paul Mitchell. I’m far more famous than he is.” Nick rolls his eyes so hard they threaten to pop out of his head, and retreats back into his flat, Harry hot on his heels.

 

**

October 17th, 2013

 

Harry misses the sound of Nick’s voice, so he decides to listen to Nick’s show online during his pre-show nap in Melbourne. He pulls up the online stream of the Breakfast Show on his laptop. He settles the computer onto the opposite side of the bed, and as he hears Nick’s voice coming from the tinny speakers for the first time in days, it’s almost as if Nick were there beside him in bed. Harry thinks about sending a quick text, just to let Nick know he’s thinking about him, but decides against it. Little creepy, as Nick would say, and Harry laughs to himself.

The music on the show is surprisingly relaxed, and the combination of music and Nick’s voice lulls Harry to sleep. Someone’s calling his name, and be sits bolt upright in bed, only to realize no one is around. But he hears his name, and he realizes it’s coming from the computer. There’s some non-committal banter between Nick and Matt Fincham, and even though they don’t say his name, Harry knows they’re talking about him.

He can feel the smile begin to split his face as he listens closely, pulling out his phone. He’s gonna text Nick. He’s gonna tell him he should be more careful because popstars also listen to the radio. He’s gonna think of a great pun, perfect. He’s gonna tell Nick… gonna tell Nick he misses him.

“Maybe life is hard when you’re a popstar, you’re quite busy, you don’t have time for friends.”

Harry freezes, iPhone in his hand, already opened his chat with Nick. Before he can even process what he’s heard, Nick and Matt are moving on, ending the link, and Nick is introducing the next song. Harry makes a startled, harsh sound, but he’s not too sure what it is, maybe somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

“This next track is one of our favorites here at the Breakfast Show,” Nick croons through the laptop speakers, smooth and collected as ever. “Here’s Laughter Lines by Bastille.”

Harry slams the laptop shut, an involuntary reflex more than anything. His fingers fly across his phone screen.

_Call me when you’re done with radio._

_Woah there popstar, can I get a please?_

_Call me when you’re off._

_I’ve been listening to the show this morning._

There’s no response for several minutes, during which Harry just stares at his phone, glued to the bed and unable to move. He sees his phone light up before he feels the buzz.

_Okay._

Thats it? Okay. Harry doesn’t move an inch, but a heavy tear escapes from his eye and slides onto the phone screen, right over ‘Okay.’ It warps the word, making it look fat and daunting, O-K-A-Y, period. The tear colors the screen in a flurry or static rainbows. The phone vibrates sharply, shaking off the water.

_Off in an hour. I’ll call you then._

Harry needs to move, he wants to move, but for the next hour, the most he can bring himself to do is lie back on the bed. He takes deep, gulping breaths. Sure, things haven’t been great since he left for tour. But they never are. It’s always hard to leave Nick behind. Even when they were just friends, he never wanted to leave Nick. He never wants to leave Nick.

Harry touches the tattoo on the outside of his left bicep, tracing its half raised sails, the masts, the wide hull. Everyone has their theories as to what the daunting ship means; it’s for Taylor, it’s for Louis, it goes with the sparrows, it’s a pun, it’s just pretty. No one knows what it really means, not even the man who unwittingly has its mate inked into his left wrist.

And even now, in the eye of a storm and an ocean apart, Harry still feels the tug of his anchor. He lays on the overly plush hotel bed, feels as if it could swallow him whole, and starts to cry.

Nick finally calls, luckily once Harry’s done sobbing. When he picks up, it’s silent for a moment before Nick cuts the tension that lays thick like cream.

“I’m sorry you heard that.”

“No you’re not,” Harry replies.

“I mean, I am,” reproaches Nick. “I’m sorry you heard that over the radio instead of directly from me. I should’ve had the courage to say something to you directly. But I didn’t. So it’s all out there now.” There’s a beat of silence following, both of them breathing heavily into the phone.

“So what happened? What’s going to happen?” Harry asks, feeling the sting in his throat as he bites back tears.

“It’s just too hard this time Harry. I can’t do it,” Nick says, voice melancholy and raspy. Harry hopes he’s on the verge of tears as well. “We’ve just been fighting so much. So many things have happened, and I just don’t know if there’s any coming back from it.”

“Okay.” manages Harry. O-K-A-Y period. “Is that it then? No room for talking? No negotiation?”

“I already know the outcome, I don’t much feel like fighting the battle this time ‘round.”

“Okay.” O-K-A-Y period.

“Have a good show, alright Harry?” Nick chirps, voice cracking ever so slightly that Harry thinks he may have imagined it. “I’ll see ya ‘round.”

“Yeah Gri- Nick. I’ll see ya ‘round,” Harry chokes, then adds “tell Puppy I say bye.”

Nick lets out a hoarse laugh.

“Yeah alright. Bye popstar.”

And then there’s nothing, and Harry pulls the phone away from his ear to see the screen flash “CALL ENDED” in tall white letters. All he hears is Nick’s pet name for him ringing in his ears -popstar, popstar, popstar.

He lays there until Niall comes to get him; time to go to the venue and get dressed and ready and trot out on stage like nothing has changed when he can hardly will himself out of bed. If Niall notices anything off in Harry, he does a great job of pretending like he doesn’t as he drags Harry out of his room and into a van.

  


  * storyline (9 hour time difference

  * 20th, the flight to australia

  * *friday the 13th

  * *september 24th (two shows in, nick is gonna stay at finchy’s after katy perry, 1 yr of breakfast show)

  * saturday the 14th (“your face looks weird”, house of holland show, after party, pub, home) SEX

  * october 6th (the “i don’t know, I don’t know” article comes out)

  * monday the 16th (burberry show/leopard shirt, nick is in the show/they make fun of harry/let him off he’s 11, cornflakes for dinner + that tweet) nice sex

  * october 7th (twitter fight with louis)

  * tuesday the 17th (nick almost doesn’t make it to work, fashion show east/hands shirt, pixie’s birthday) morning sex

  * october 8th, (finchy asks how harry is, nick changes the subject)

  * thursday the 18th (nothing much, baking night) implied sex

  * october 17th (“Maybe life is hard when you’re a popstar, you’re quite busy, you don’t have time for friends.” harry cries that night)

  * the 19th (locked in the house or beach with anne probably beach with anne)

  * october 18th (“i can’t deal with reality -nick”)

  * 20th, nick puts him on the plane THE END but mwahaha since timelines are intertwined, they’re happy in the end of the story but not the end of the timeline

  * POSSIBLE ENDING: the 24th of october, just this quote: Most depressing night of my life, last night—sat in watching Grand Designs and eating a cucumber. Like, is this it? —Nick Grimshaw

  * timeline

  * before this, harry was on tour since post brits, then doing promo for this is us/(london one the 21st)premiers/vmas(25th)/general things in america/family time. briefly see each other on august 22nd for the sponge direction interview

  * the friday the 13th, harry takes the tube to dinner (“i had dinner with a friend” he said on the radio) with nick & his dad, they go out to the elton john thing, where he says “i love harry, i love one direction, fuck off alright?”

  * the 14th they wake up on the same couch, sadie’s couch

  * september saturday the 14th House of holland show (plain white shirt, kelly osborn, gemma) harry picks him up and says “are you alright your face looks weird?”, then they go to the show, then the after party, then the pub, then home where harry almost got run over

  * daily mail says this “" It was reported at the time that his choice of location for the property was so he could be closer to Nick who doesn’t live too far away but judging by his decision to stay with him this week it seems it’s just not near enough"”

  * Instagram of them on the couch all tangled up with puppy, his parents are in his bed so they’re curled up on the couch

  * harry steals nick’s grey sweater

  * sunday the 15th is nothing

  * september monday the 16th burberry in leopard without nick (he’s at work) the next day

  * nick tells fincham on the radio that he went to bed early. make fun of harry laughing at the show “he’s 11, let him off”

  * corn flakes for dinner + the tweet at like 10pm+ breaking bad

  * morning of tuesday the 17th, nick almost doesn’t make it into work

  * the 17th, fashion east show (hands shirt)

  * pixie’s birthday that night

  * the 18th is nothing important, except that nick has harry over that night to bake

  * the 19th, ??? nick probably locked him in the house or he went to the beach with anne?

  * the 20th, the boys leave for australia

  * 23rd, matt & nick are fake dating, nick asks him to marry him, first show (adelaide)

  * 24th is 1 yr of the show, 2nd show (adelaide)

  * 25th, matt texts nick & asks to stay over after katy perry (which is the 28th, 1st show in perth, 4th of the tour)

  * the 6th, you get the louis/grimmy twitter fight (maybe this is where they start to argue?) and the “i don’t know I don’t know” about having a relationship with harry in the sunday times (harry is in sydney)

  * october 8th, fincham asks how harry is, nick changes the subject (no show) http://waspabi.tumblr.com/post/63459177001/nick-thats-not-funny-enough-to-trend-matt

  * THE 17TH GUYS “Maybe life is hard when you’re a popstar, you’re quite busy, you don’t have time for friends.” —Nick Grimshaw

  * 17th at night, harry cries (2nd show in melbourne)

  * 18th “i can’t deal with reality” -nick on breakfast (no show)

  * then, no harry styles mentions for a bit

  * the 24th, nick says this on the show: Most depressing night of my life, last night—sat in watching Grand Designs and eating a cucumber. Like, is this it? —Nick Grimshaw (show in sydney that night)




 


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